


Let Us Run Wild

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Songs of the New World [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:52:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maglor and Maedhros come to swear fealty, but the new high king is…elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Us Run Wild

They arrived in Hithlum, arrayed in scarlet and gold, the eldest sons of Fëanor standing tall and proud, prepared to pledge their allegiance to the new High King. 

Only the High King wasn’t there. 

“I’m sorry,” said Maedhros, rather dangerously, looming over the nervous steward who’d greeted them. “Did you say that the King is – ” 

“Out, my lords,” squeaked the steward, trying not to trip backwards as he craned his head to look up at Maedhros. 

“Out?” said Maglor, cocking his head curiously. “What, out running errands? Out borrowing a cup of sugar from the neighbors?” 

“Just out, my lords,” said the steward, clasping his fingers together. “I am very sorry. But had we known of your arrival…” 

“The last three messengers we sent this way were found riddled with black arrows,” said Maedhros, grimly. “We found their bodies on our way here. Given that, I suggest you should be happy we have made it here at all, advance warning or no.” 

“I can get you settled in the guest quarters,” said the steward, desperately. “And I promise you that as soon as the King returns, he will be informed of your arrival.” 

“He’ll be ‘informed’, will he?” said Maedhros, with glacial chill. “Splendid. Most accommodating of you.” He leveled a steel grey glance at the steward, who quailed, but Maglor laid a placating hand on his brother’s arm. 

“That will be fine,” he said, nodding courteously to the steward. “Thank you.” 

 

But Maedhros paced their rooms restlessly once they were established there, and Maglor looked up at him at last, exasperated. “Stop _prowling_ , Nelyo.” 

“I’m not prowling,” said Maedhros, miffed, but he forced himself to stop. He drummed his fingers on the windowsill, trying not to let his impatience shake him to pieces. The journey had not been easy, but anticipation had pushed him on, and he felt somehow thwarted now. He cursed himself three times a fool, and turned abruptly to the door. 

“I’m going out,” he said over his shoulder to Maglor, who was already absorbed in a book. 

“Don’t eat anyone,” said Maglor, absently, turning a page. 

- 

Instead, Maedhros tracked down the King’s personal guard and, through a combination of excessive height and a reputation that preceded him, intimidated him into talking. 

“His highness is out running around the lake,” the guard said at last, resentfully.

Maedhros stared. “Running.” 

“Around the lake, yes.” The guard tilted his chin up, belligerently. “He does it after long council meetings.” 

Maedhros shook his head, and despite himself, smiled. “Of course he does,” he muttered. 

The guard was still eying him with deep dislike and distrust. “He doesn’t like to be bothered out there,” he said, and added, “ _my lord_ ,” with no small amount of sarcasm. 

“I shall keep that in mind,” said Maedhros, and smiled disarmingly at the guard, who only seemed more discomfited by this display of charm. “Thank you.” 

- 

It was no small trek to the shores of the lake, but by the time he’d reached the eastern shore, he saw a loping figure approaching. Memories flooded Maedhros. Once upon a time, he could have kept pace with Fingon, easily. He closed his eyes, remembering nights chasing Fingon through the streets of Tirion, intoxicated with drink and love, feeling he could easily take flight, so light were his feet. He opened his eyes, and watched his cousin come closer. Could he catch him now, if he tried, or were his steps too heavy, his body too weary?

Fingon’s hair was uncharacteristically unadorned – perhaps in mourning, Maedhros thought, with a wrench of his heart – and caught back in a long tail. He was shirtless, and he looked haler than Maedhros could remember seeing him. His chest and arms were heavy with muscle, and though his pace was strong, his breath came light and easy. It caught, though, as he rounded the corner and caught sight of Maedhros. 

“Maitimo.” 

Maedhros tried to smile, but all he could focus on was drinking in as much of Fingon as he could. “Findekáno.” 

 

 

They sat together on the shore of the lake, shoulders just brushing. 

“What are you doing here, Maitimo?” asked Fingon, at last, after the silence had stretched on for several minutes. 

“We've come to pledge our allegiance to you, as it happens,” said Maedhros. 

“Oh. That.” Fingon twitched his shoulders irritably, as if trying to rid himself of a pestering fly. “‘We'?” 

“Maglor is here too.” The name still felt awkward on his tongue. Alone together, he and his brothers still used their old names, though none but Fingon ever called him Maitimo anymore. 

“I see.” Fingon stared out over the lake. 

Maedhros touched him lightly on the shoulder. “I wish to convey to you – your father, Findekáno, I am sorry – ”

Fingon shook him off, roughly. “I do not wish to talk about my father.” 

Maedhros drew back, watching Fingon thoughtfully. He wanted to say more, but instead said, “You look well.” 

For some reason, this only darkened Fingon’s expression further. “Yes, well.” He scowled. “I am, indeed, far healthier and stronger than I have any right to be.” He slung a rock out across the water. It skipped several times and sank. 

Maedhros remained quiet. He’d spent much of their youth using well-timed silences to get Fingon to say what was on his mind.

“He didn’t tell me,” said Fingon, at last. “He didn’t tell me that he was going, or what he was doing. He didn’t let me help, and I could have – Instead of being safe and well snugged up in the fortress, I could have been out there _with_ him, at his side. Where I should have been!” He clenched his teeth and cast another rock into the waters. “I will never forgive him for that,” he said, low and bitter. “Nor will I ever forgive myself.” 

Maedhros tried touching him again, laying his hand on Fingon’s knee. “I know what it is to lose a father,” he said quietly. “And what it is to feel you have failed him.” 

“I should be angry at you for comparing our fathers,” said Fingon with a touch of heat, and then dropped his head into his arms. “I miss him, Maitimo,” he said, and Maedhros wrapped a tentative arm around his shoulder and held him lightly. 

At last, Fingon raised his head. “I cannot believe you are here, truly,” he said. “How did you find me out here?” 

“I bullied your guard into telling me,” said Maedhros. “I think I have made an enemy there. Well, another one.” 

Fingon laughed, and Maedhros felt his spirit lift at the familiar sound. “Ah, poor boy. He’s rather protective of me, and he knows I come out here when I’m frustrated or overwhelmed. He probably didn’t want you adding to my frustration. Or overwhelming me further. He would come out here with me, if I let him.” 

Maedhros felt a sudden rush of suspicion about this protective young guard, but he tamped it down. “You look most regal,” he said. “Sprinting around the wilds, half naked and crownless.” 

“Yes, I am very dignified,” said Fingon, seriously, then laughed again. “You told me once I’d make a great king.” He eyed Maedhros, lightly challenging. “Are you rethinking your words?”

“Never,” said Maedhros. “I came here to pledge you my loyalty, you’ll remember. My loyalty,” he amended, dropping his eyes, “so far as it does not conflict with…previous obligations.” 

“How very equivocal,” said Fingon, a touch of steel in his tone. “Well, you can go ahead and kiss my ring and swear your conditional allegiance, or whatever ridiculous ceremony is involved.” 

“I would kiss your ring now,” said Maedhros, trying to lighten the mood, “but you don’t appear to have it with you.” 

“Yes,” said Fingon. “Useless thing. Heavy, ugly, throws off my grip on a sword…” 

Maedhros smiled, and looked up at the sun. “It’s getting late,” he said. “Your guard will probably be wondering if I’ve slain you, in the grand tradition of our family.” 

“He would do well to remember that his High King is a kinslayer as well,” said Fingon, darkly amused.  

“We should go back,” said Maedhros, making to rise, but Fingon caught his arm. 

“Wait.”

“What?” Maedhros looked back at him, and the expression in his cousin’s eyes made his heart speed up. 

“There are things I would like to do,” said Fingon, “that I cannot do in front of a full court.” And he pulled Maedhros down into a kiss.

Maedhros returned the kiss hungrily, not even trying to deny that this was what he had wished for all the long journey from Himring. “You could always try it in front of your court,” he said, when at last they broke apart, “and further scandalize your people with how you favor your savage cousins.” 

Fingon pushed him back into the grass and straddled his waist. “Don’t think I haven’t had fantasies like that.” He jerked open Maedhros’ tunic and bit lightly at his collarbone. “Valar, Maitimo, if you knew the dreams I’ve had…” 

“Tell me,” said Maedhros, rolling his hips and eliciting a groan from his cousin. 

“You demon.” Fingon fumbled roughly with the laces of their breeches. “I’ll tell you everything, anything, but I must have you _now_. Eru, how I’ve missed the feel of you inside of me.” 

“Ah, if your court could only hear what a mouth their king has in bed.” Maedhros grinned, pushing himself up so that Fingon was flush against his chest, straddling his lap. 

“We’re not in a bed,” mumbled Fingon, running his fingers through Maedhros’ hair. “You’ve let your hair grow long again.” 

“I know how you like it,” Maedhros whispered, stretching up to catch Fingon’s earlobe between his teeth. Fingon gasped and his fingers dug into Maedhros’ shoulder. 

“ _Demon_. If you don’t fuck me now, Maitimo, I think I will go mad.” 

“As my lord requests,” murmured Maedhros, and felt Fingon tremble against him. 

- 

They lay in the grass, the High King and the abdicator, and watched the sun set on the far shore.

“The search party will be coming any moment now,” murmured Maedhros, and felt Fingon stir against his neck. 

“Let’s just stay here.”

Maedhros held him closer. “Findekáno…” 

“I don’t want anything but you,” said Fingon, lips at his throat. “Even when I hate you, you bastard, for – for everything, but especially for making me king, I can’t get enough of you, never, and all I want is this…” 

Maedhros closed his eyes. “If I could, I would grant you all you wish, my love.” He pressed a kiss to Fingon’s brow and smiled, despite the ache. “My king.”

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. Written fast and rather half-cocked, no pun intended. I probably got some geography wrong (could Fingon be running around Lake Mithrim if we're assuming he's at Barad Eithel? Probably a long shot. I'm going to say it's a different, more conveniently located lake of my own invention. There are probably loads of lakes up there, right?)  
> 1\. The guard shall remain nameless, for now at least, because I haven't decided if I care enough to make him Someone.


End file.
